


For The Sake Of The Stew

by ThreeFeathers



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Cuddles, Gen, M/M, Ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeFeathers/pseuds/ThreeFeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin must save the stew from Thorin, and employs Bilbo's unwitting (and unwilling) help.</p><p> </p><p>(Ridiculous little thing, don't mind me. A gift for Cirrat, who is dangerous to my poor brain.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Sake Of The Stew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cirrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirrat/gifts).



The night is cold, his injuries ache (as does his pride, a bit - the Hobbit, of all people, standing between him and Azog?), and Thorin II Oakenshield is not in the mood for his Company’s usual shenanigans. Perhaps they recognize this, as for once he is left in peace by the fire while Balin organizes the night’s watches and assigns camp duties. By virtue of his wounds, Thorin is exempt - which is good. For all his pride, Thorin is not certain he could rise from his spot by the fire if he tried.

Still...he is the Leader of this Company - it is hardly appropriate for him to spend the night idle while the others worked, injured or no. Thorin examines the camp, looking for a task - there is wood chopped for the fire, the bedrolls are all laid out, and it seems that his nephews and Dwalin are preparing to leave for a hunt already. Perhaps he should manage the stew?

He reaches for the ladle and the pouches of herbs sitting not a foot away.

\----

Dwalin peers around at the camp, and nods his satisfaction. His brave, foolhardy little Hobbit is bundled in several layers of blanket, the camp is prepared for the night, and soon there will be fresh meat for the stew.

The stew...which Thorin is reaching for.

Dwalin remembers lamb cooked to a stringy grey mush, duck roasted so the outside is black as coal and the inside is still raw, soup the color of Troll mucus and tasting of river mud. Dwalin remembers countless meals, each worse than the last, choked down through necessity and the desire not to offend his King. It has been a very long day, and all Dwalin wants is an edible meal and a warm Hobbit. 

Dwalin watches his King reach for the stew, and this is what he thinks: NO.

The speed with which he moves startles Kili enough to make the lad stumble, but Dwalin pays him no mind - three long strides carry him halfway across the camp and before Bilbo can so much as squeak, he has scooped the Hobbit up.

“Wha - Dwalin!” Bilbo protests, having just made himself comfortable.

“Play along!” Dwalin says in a desperate hiss.

It is all the two have time for before Dwalin is standing between his King and his dinner, Hobbit and blankets one bundle in his arms. He thrusts said bundle into Thorin’s lap with absolutely no warning.

“He’s cold and someone needs to watch so he doesn’t go into, uhm, delayed shock! Keep him warm while I hunt with the lads, would you?” Thorin and Bilbo direct identical bewildered and suspicious stares at the large Dwarf, which would be funny except his DINNER. 

“Right!” Dwalin says, before either one gathers the wits to respond. “I’ll be off!”

Two strides to where the princes are gaping at him, and rather than pause and explain and provide Thorin an opening to protest, he grabs Fili by the scruff of the neck and Kili by the belt and hauls the both of them into the trees.

Dinner WILL be saved.

\----

Thorin gapes after his old friend for a moment, feeling quite blindsided. What in Mahal’s name was that about? Surely the Hobbit wasn’t so bad off as to require supervision for the hour Dwalin will be gone!

He directs his gaze to the bundle in his lap. Dwalin’s abrupt delivery has left Bilbo Baggins quite cocooned in blankets, some of which had flipped over his head - all that is visible of the Hobbit are his button nose and two enormous, shocked blue eyes. He feels the little creature shiver.

Hm. Perhaps Dwalin is correct after all…

Decision made, Thorin nods decisively to the camp in general and settles the Hobbit more firmly in his lap (ignoring the little thing’s startled squawk as he did so), looping an arm around the outside of the blankets to secure him against Thorin’s chest. As long as he doesn’t jostle his other arm too much, the position is manageable.

The Hobbit squirms, and Thorin frowns. His voice is stern. “Sit still, Master Baggins.”

“I - I will not sit still! I was perfectly comfortable, thank you, and I should like to go back to my bedroll! I do NOT need supervision!” Bilbo’s face (what little is visible) is the picture of outrage.

Thorin frowns down at him. Certainly the little fellow had proven his worth, but what in all Middle Earth had made Dwalin so fond of him? Small and fussy and not a jot of self-preservation anywhere in his odd little head. Still, at least he was relatively predictable.

Thorin makes a good show of wincing. “Agh - my arm - sit still!”

Bilbo goes still immediately, eyes impossibly wide - and promptly begins babbling apologies.”I’m so sorry! Oh dear, are you all right?! Look, just let me up and I’ll fetch Oin and -”

“Master Baggins, I have been given a duty to perform and perform it I will. Now be still! Are you warm enough?” Thorin hauls the mercifully unresisting Hobbit closer.

He finds, to his surprise, that the little fellow is remarkably heavy for such a small thing. Must be all the food. Finally still and apparently resigned to his situation, Bilbo sighs heavily - and leans back against Thorin’s chest, soft curls just tickling his cheek.

The Hobbit is a warm, pliant weight in his lap...and apparently quite tired, as he yawns widely. It has been a rather long day, hasn’t it? And to have confirmation that Azog lived not hour before the Pale Orc had nearly taken his head...Goblins and Wargs, burning pines and the faint memory of flight...Thorin echoes Bilbo’s yawn.

The cloak about his shoulders is a soft, reassuring weight and the light and warmth from the fire are soothing. And, Thorin realizes, the Hobbit has apparently succumbed to sleep, right there in his lap.

Well.

That is...quite the display of trust, from one he has not thought well of (nor treated particularly well, come to think of it). The soft sound of the Hobbit’s breath against his cheek is oddly comfortable - it reminds him of being packed into a single bed with his sister and nephews in Erin Lund at the start of life After The Dragon...taking comfort from the closeness of his family.

Really, fussiness aside, the little fellow isn’t so bad. Between the warmth of the fire, the Hobbit’s breath against his cheek, and the knowledge that those he trusts above all others are watching over him, it is deeply tempting to follow the Hobbit into sleep.

He has a duty, though. Admittedly, the Hobbit seems quite untroubled now, but…

Thorin’s eyelids droop.

Well, maybe just a moment to rest his eyes.

\----

This is the spectacle which Dwalin and the princes return to:

On one side of the fire, the whole of the Company sits, starting across at the other side. The other side, where his King appears to have made use of his Hobbit as an impromptu teddy-bear. Ori is sketching as fast as his fingers can move while the rest stare in silent fascination. From across the camp, Gandalf tips Dwalin a wink.

Dwalin sighs.

At least the stew is safe.


End file.
